


Dead Men Don't Tell Tales

by CrimeAlley1048



Category: Batfamily - Fandom, Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics), Grayson (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 09:25:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4386494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimeAlley1048/pseuds/CrimeAlley1048
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damian Wayne thinks about his plan for atonement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead Men Don't Tell Tales

**Author's Note:**

> Most of the characters aren't actually there. It'll make sense.

It was probably wrong to steal a voice, but Damian didn’t care. The ability was useful, and that was all that mattered. He could imitate them perfectly— it was one of the many, many things that made him both superior and effective. Security was a lot less secure with that kind of talent.

  
But the voices were useful for other things too. Damian sat alone, staring at the pile of fur that was Goliath, asleep in the next clearing. He was thinking about the Year of Blood again, and honestly? He felt like garbage.

  
He couldn’t let the others find out. They were all aware of his past— that had never been a secret— but in this case, the devil really was in the details. It wouldn’t matter to them that it was years ago, that he was sorry, that he’d changed, as long as the evidence was piled against him, overflowing from a bloody, tainted vault. He didn’t want to see their faces. He didn’t want to watch as they all stopped trusting him. Again.

  
What would they say? Todd would probably understand. Damian laughed a little bit at the thought— the two of them had more and more in common lately He wasn’t sure that was good thing.  
Damian checked around him to make sure he was still alone— this would be embarrassing if he wasn’t. He couldn’t see anybody. Goliath couldn’t make fun of him. He might as well.

  
Really, what _would_ Todd say? Damian crossed his arms and dropped into Jason’s too tall, ex-smoker voice.

  
“You try your best to do the right thing, and then you live with the consequences.”

  
Yeah, probably something like that. It wasn’t particularly helpful. And should anybody really be taking advice from Todd? The man wasn’t the best example of metal health— or the best example in general.

  
Besides, it wasn’t the same thing. Todd still killed people— most of the time, he didn’t seem to regret that. It was part of his “doing the right thing.” He never pretended to be a hero; he didn’t seem to care what Batman or anybody else thought about him. But yes, he would understand.

  
Drake wouldn’t. Damian imagined Tim in the batcave, underneath the dinosaur Damian pushed him off that one time. He would probably smile— Drake was always talking about how Damian was a murderer. He would take all of this as proof he was right. Why in hell was Drake always right?

  
Okay, since he was already committed— Damian pulled himself into a standing position and stuck his hands on his hips, adopting Drake’s voice.

  
“See? What did I tell you? You can’t hide who you really are, _demon spawn_ , not from me. And now _he_ knows too. It was only a matter of time.”

  
Drake didn’t know anything. He just didn’t want to accept that Damian belonged in Gotham— he didn’t want him to be part of the family. His problem, Damian thought, not mine. I’m doing my best. That’s his fault.

  
“You want to be like him so bad, but you’ll never be Batman. He’s a good person, Damian, and you’re… well…”

  
Shut up. No. That was enough. Damian didn’t want to think about it anymore. Who cared what Drake thought? Drake was an idiot. It didn’t matter.

  
Someone else— he needed someone else. Who could he—? Not Father. Damian sat down again, breathing deeply because the thought of his father finding out made him feel physically ill. He put his face in his hands.

  
Pennyworth? Gordon? No, neither of them— he wasn’t sure what they would think. Maybe he could call Mia again? No. Was he really about to do this?

  
It was _definitely_ wrong to steal a dead man’s voice, but Damian didn’t care. Sometimes, he just needed to hear it. Grayson would know what to say (at least, he would if he was still around).

  
“Listen, kid,” Damian began, the way Grayson usually did. “You know this doesn’t change anything, right? I don’t care about any of that stuff you did with the League.”

  
Damian hoped that’s what he would say, anyway. Grayson had seen more of his bad side than anyone. It had never seemed to bother him before.

  
“Bruce doesn’t love you for the stuff you do, you know? That’s not how it’s supposed to work. He cares about you because you’re his son.”

  
Except Father hadn’t loved him at the beginning, had he? That was recent. He could lose that. Maybe he was about to.

  
“Anyway I promise I— damn.” Damian’s voice broke, cracking back into his own register. Dammit. He needed to get this right. He had to.

  
“I promise I’ll still—” Damian’s throat was getting tight. His eyes were starting to burn. No, he had to finish this. What would Grayson tell him?

  
“I…” Damian gave up. He couldn’t finish— he was crying now. It wouldn’t work.

  
Damian buried his head in his knees, sobbing quietly. He just wanted to make it perfect. He should be able to _do_ this.

  
If he couldn’t be perfect, what was the point?


End file.
